


I Will Survive: Charles Xavier Style

by astrapoetica



Category: X-Men - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-04
Updated: 2019-09-04
Packaged: 2020-10-10 01:04:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,604
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20519429
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/astrapoetica/pseuds/astrapoetica
Summary: After a former student refers to him as a gay man on national television, small-town teacher Charles Xavier tries to get a grip on his masculinity. Based on the 1997 movie "In and Out." All credits to those writers, to Kevin Kline for being a phenomenal actor, and to Gloria Gaynor for performing the song "I Will Survive." If you've never seen this particular scene before, here's a handy reference: https://youtu.be/yBPm2Xom_y4.





	I Will Survive: Charles Xavier Style

Dramatic introductory music swells to a crescendo as Charles paces nervously, running a hand through his sweaty hair. It seems like every molecule in his body is perspiring today, and his white cotton shirt is sticking to his chest as he frantically moves from one part of his living room to another, waiting for the tape to start. He had been forced to drive all the way to a neighboring town to buy the audio recording he wanted, just so he could be relatively sure that no one would recognize me and wonder why he was purchasing "Taking Charge of Your Masculinity." The woman had still raised her eyebrow at him and shot him the most skeptical of looks as she handed his bag over, but luckily she hadn't said anything to him about it other than thanking him for his purchase. 

He jumps up and down impatiently, the tape recorder clicking and hissing as the voice finally comes on. It's a deep, booming, masculine voice, and to Charles it sounds ominously like what you might expect God to sound like if you called him on the phone: "Welcome to our series on exploring your masculinity. This is audio tape number 1: Getting a Grip."

He wrings his hands and tries to shake out his fears, letting the words flow over him. He's always liked words, after all that's why he became an English teacher. At all of the darkest and most dire parts of his life, words have been his salvation. Maybe what this speaker has to say will somehow help sort out the mess his life has become ever since his former student Scott Summers inadvertently threw his life into disarray by starting those awful rumors about him and his sexuality at the Oscars. And that's all they are, after all, just rumors. They aren't accurate or true! He's getting married to Jean on Sunday, for chrissakes, why would he be doing that if he wasn't straight? 

He tries to slow his breathing as the voice goes on: "Are you dressed in suitably masculine attire?" He can't help reflexively glancing down at himself. Blue button up shirt with a white t-shirt underneath, all of it neatly tucked into dark blue jeans, coupled with a sedate brown belt and oxford shoes that match it. That's masculine, right? Or is it? He feels like he's questioning everything about himself now, even how he chooses to dress. There has to be something about him, or else would Scott have said those things about him, and on live tv no less...

He shuts his eyes, and tries to zero in on what the voice is actually saying. If he doesn't pay attention, how will he be able to change? He just has to focus, has to believe he's... 

"Are you in control?"

_God, I wish...._ he's never felt so out of control in his whole life.

"Are you ready to take charge?"

_That's what I have to do.... have to be in control of myself, have to take charge... _he clenches his fists so tightly that his knuckles turn white.

"Are you.... a man?"

His eyes pop open at that. Of course he is! What kind of stupid question is that anyway? Even if he is what Scott claims, that wouldn't make him any less of a....

"Stand up! Stand straight and tall." He snaps to attention, his left hand settling on his hip out of long habit. "Excuse me, are we a little teapot?" He blinks, letting his hand drop to his side as he starts to realize that this tape might not be the magic bullet that he was hoping for after all.

"Untuck your shirt!"

That also seems like a strange request, but he dutifully untucks first one side and then the other, grimacing at the wrinkles that are exposed when he pulls the tails out and over his belt.

"Just one side!"

A wrinkle appears between his brows as he frowns....

"You hate this, don't you?"

Charles can't help the short retort that comes out of him at that: "Well just look at it!"

_Does being manly mean being slovenly because if so..._

"You want to be neat, you want to be tidy... Adjust yourself!"

He isn't sure what the voice might mean by that, but he pulls at his shirt tails, trying in vain to get out the wrinkles. And he reaches up to run a hand through his sweaty hair, tugs at his collar... "Not there. The package, sissy man! The family jewels."

_Dear God, they can't mean..._ "Grab 'em!"

Grimacing, he complies, although he can't imagine what good all of this is doing anyway. Isn't the entire point keeping his hands off of a cock, and now here he is fondling himself in his own living room. He truly hopes that no one is peeking through his windows at the moment, especially not someone with the paparazzi. He bets that ridiculous Erik Lehnsherr from that god awful television show that's been following him around town and interviewing all his students and friends would just love to have a photo like that for their Saturday night special. He can just hear the announcer now in that sleek cool voice of his, "Charles Xavier, local school teacher, recently outed as a gay man at the Oscars, has now fallen to a new perverse low, wanking in his own living room as he listens to raunchy musical numbers."

"You're in a bar room... repeat after me, Yo!"

_Because apparently being man also means using incorrect grammar and sloppy slanguage..._

Obligingly though he plays along, loudly repeating, "Yo!"

_I've never felt so stupid in all my life. If I wanted to talk like a Neanderthal, I wouldn't have gotten a PhD in English literature..._

"Hot damn!" An eye roll at that as he imagined his mother rolling in her grave if he had ever used such language in front of her, "Hot damn!"

"What a fabulous window treatment...." 

_Well now that sounds more normal._

"What a fabulous window treatment!"

He gestures at his window sash as if praising it, just as the masculine voice booms out: "That was a trick!"

He drops his fierce hold on his nether regions and groans. None of his is really striking him as helpful at all, maybe he should just turn the damn thing off. He walks over to the tape player, his hand poised above the 'stop' button, but he stops as the thinnest strains of music start up, making him tilt his head and pause... Is that... Gloria Gaynor?

"We have come to the most critical area of masculine behavior. Dancing."

**At first I was afraid, I was petrified, kept thinking I could never live without you by my side...**

Well yes, now here's something at last that seems familiar to him. After all, he was forced into formal dance training from the time he was three years old. It was something that his mother insisted on, along with etiquette, grammar, and cultural lessons.

"Truly manly men do not dance."

_Now hold on just one minute..._

**But then I spent so many nights thinking how you did me wrong...**

"Under any circumstances, this will be your ultimate test."

_Surely they can't mean all dancing can they? _Unbidden, his hips start to move as a memory of swaying gently in his father's arms comes to him, a lullaby being sung softly to him. But that was before, before the dark days of his mother's remarriage, the days of being harassed by his step-brother Cain Marko, that time he pushed him out of the tree and his arm... the pain of it... but no, he doesn't think about that anymore. It's not important. It's all in the past now, and has no bearing on his current state, either mental or physical.

**And I grew strong, and I learned how to get along! **

He has to... has to focus... but how can he with this damned distracting music playing, competing with the masculine voice for his attention as it gets louder and louder all the while?

"At all costs, avoid: rhythm, grace, and pleasure."

That's the trouble though, isn't it? He shakes his head, trying to ignore the pulse pounding his brain, the twitching in the soles of his feet... The sweet strains of disco music, muffled by the masculine voice of the narrator, suddenly give way to an upbeat tempo, and it's all he can do to control himself and not let himself give in to the temptation to start dancing immediately.

**And so you're back, from outer space I just walked in to find you here with that sad look upon your face...**

"Whatever you do, do not dance!"

He can't help himself, he feels himself start to sway more, and even the shaking of his head has become more of a dance than anything else. But no, he won't give in! He'll do as the narrator says, and stop himself from giving in to what he wants. And maybe this, finally, will prove to everyone that he isn't lying, that he's just as straight as he says he is... And he'll get married to Jean, and everyone will forget about what Scott said. Then everything can just go back to being normal, and people will stop staring at him in the streets like he's some sort of mad zoo animal or escaped convict.

**I should have changed that stupid lock, I should have made you leave your key If I'd known for just one second you'd be back to bother me!**

"Can you hear it? Can you hear the demon? Dance, the demon whispers. Everyone else is dancing. They're getting down, they're getting funky now. They're having fun."

_And are men not supposed to have fun? Is that all that men are? Some sort of scowling creature in the corner that makes everyone else afraid?_

He can't help but think again of his stepbrother Cain when he conjures up the image in his mind of this perfect masculine man. Somehow it seems as if Cain is never far from his thoughts, like he's always lurking in the corners of Charles's mind, ready to jump out like a phantom anytime he wishes. It doesn't take much for him to be summoned most of the time. A simple cutting phrase that reminds him of Cain, a common smell of the type of cologne his stepbrother wore, or a quirk of a head and a mocking smile... These are all triggers, ones that can leave Charles short of breath and quaking somewhere in a closet for fifteen minutes or longer.

**Go on now, go, walk out the door, just turn around now, 'cause you're not welcome anymore! W** **eren't you the one who tried to hurt me with goodbye, do you think I'd crumble, did you think I'd lay down and die?**

"Not you! Catch the fever, feel the heat of the disco beat...."

_Well that seems antithetical, telling me to avoid it, yet making it feel so enticing..._

The upbeat music seems to banish the dark lurking thoughts of Cain, and the more he shakes his head and his hips, the further back that Cain recedes, until he's nothing more than a silly shadow, easily blown away. But that's what music is, what it's always done for Charles. Just like beautiful words and literature, it chases all of his demons away.

_Even though it may not be perfectly masculine, how could such a thing be bad?_

**Oh no, not I, I will survive, oh, as long as I know how to love, I know I'll stay alive...**

"It's calling to you... Do not listen! Men do not dance. They work, they drink, they have bad backs. They do not dance."

_Well if that's what a 'real' man is, perhaps I don't care to be one... perhaps I can finally be free of it, all of their expectations, my mother, my cruel stepfather and his even fouler offspring, even Jean and the whole town... wanting me to be something I'm... something I'm... _

The words are out there, not yet fully formed, but he can feel them, on the outskirts of his consciousness. The awareness is rising within him, as fear recedes and courage rushes in to take its place.

"Hold still, hold tight, whatever you do, do not dance!"

But how can he not? Dancing is as integral to him as reading great literature is, as integral as drawing breath. And he gives in with aplomb, thrusting his hips forward and gyrating to the beat that he can no longer ignore.

**I've got all my life to live, and I've got all my love to give, and I'll survive!**

**I will survive, hey, hey!!**

It feels like he's lifting off as he strides forward, throwing himself fully into the dance and giving in, even tearing off his shirt to reveal the plain white t-shirt underneath, fully adhered to his sweaty body now. He throws the long sleeved blue button down to the side, and he can't help but smile as he pictures the face his mother would make if she could see him now.

_She'd think me quite the barbarian, throwing my clothes around and thrusting my pelvis to trashy music. _

He toothily at that, his eyes shining as he spins and throws himself around his dining room and then into the living room, probably looking like a total fool but loving every minute of it. 

**It took all the strength I had not to fall apart, kept trying hard to mend the pieces of my broken heart...**

The voice seems to be speaking for his mother, evoking all of the dark whispers that go around in Charles's thoughts every time he notices the beauty of a male stranger, and every time he acts in a way he knows isn't strictly masculine, as it goes on to chastise him: "What are you doing? Stop dancing, you big ballerina! Stop waving those hands!"

But he can't stop waving his hand around, just like he can't stop himself from spinning in a carefree circle around his dining room table. The feeling of freedom flowing through his veins is simply too strong to be ignored.

**And I spent oh-so many nights just feeling sorry for myself, I used to cry, but now I hold my head up high!**

"Aren't you listening you pantywaist, stop it! Stop shaking that booty!"

It feels gleeful now to disobey this voice, and he takes perverse pleasure in bumping his hip into the side of a stairwell as if saying hello to an invisible partner. He can't help but picture that aggravating Lehnsherr-man from the television company as he does so, tall and dark and lean, and oh so handsome and inviting. It seems as if there's no stopping him now, not when this music has infected him like a virus. And not when he's finally realizing that this voice he always hears in his head is wrong, so wrong about the world and what exactly might be possible within its confines.

** I'm not that chained-up little person and still in love with you, and so you felt like dropping in and just expect me to be free Well, now I'm saving all my lovin' for someone who's loving me!**

"Be a man! Kick someone, punch someone, bite someone's ear!"

He giggles as he pictures himself biting the aforementioned tv celebrity and the reaction that might ensue if he did so, and the laughter that bubbles out of him feels a bit giddy. He feels as if he's somehow drunk at 2 pm in the afternoon in his living room, as he dances around like a man possessed by a demon. (Or perhaps like someone who has just been freed from one). Oh, if only they were filming him now, how the whole town would talk... but he doesn't care anymore, it feels as if nothing can touch him at all, not while the music is playing...

**Go on now, go, walk out the door, just turn around now, 'cause you're not welcome anymore!**

He spins a bit more, feeling wild and free, like he's floating away from his body altogether, and all the expectations on him and his body are evaporating into nothing.

"Stop it, get a grip!"

_How can I get a grip when I'm not even on the ground anymore? _

"Think about John Wayne, Arnold Schwarzenegger... Arnold doesn't dance, he can barely walk!"

_Yes, yes, and he looks quite ridiculous too.._.

**Weren't you the one who tried to break me with goodbye, do you think I'd crumble, did you think I'd lay down and die? **

The music swells to an even higher peak as it approaches the refrain, and somehow it feels like it's carrying him up, up, and up....

"Stop it, stop it, just stop dancing!!!"

Abruptly the music cuts out and silence reigns, brutally loud after the raucous music that preceded it.

Sweating, Charles jerks to a sudden stop like a puppet whose strings have been cut. He's gasping for air, his lungs expanding and contracting rapidly, his heartbeat drumming in his ears. "How did you do, pussy boy?" Sudden terror floods him at this accusation, and what he's suddenly realized about himself truly hits home for the first time.

Without the music in the background, he no longer feels radiant and exultant. He feels terrified and afraid, like he fell asleep at the wheel for a few moments and woke up almost driving off of the road. And now he's trying to jerk his car back into a solid lane, only he can't... he can't go back. He just can't do it.

Not now that he knows who and what he truly is. He's a gay man. Not for the silly reasons that Scott assumed he was, or for those self same reason that everyone else now also sees and suspects. Not because he dresses a certain way, and definitely not because of how he walks or talks. He's sure that he could be like that tv celebrity Erik Lehnsherr, fierce and commanding and quite masculine, and still be of the same persuasion.

It's just who he is. An integral, ingrained part of himself. And being gay is as normal to him as breathing is. And he knows now that he can no longer deny it. He knows that he can no longer go through with this fake marriage to Jean. But how can he tell her without crushing all of her beautiful hopes and dreams? It was wrong of him to lead her on for so long, but truly, the one who was the most deluded was him, thinking and imagining that he could somehow remake himself into a more ideal image if he just tried hard enough.

All he ever wanted out of life was to be someone who was good enough. Someone who would gain the approval of the world, the praise of his mother, and the admiration of his stepbrother Cain and his godawful gang of friends. But he never quite fit into their world, not exactly, no matter how hard he tried. And he realizes now that he will never reflect their image of perfection, no matter what he does or how many lies come out of his mouth on a regular basis. 

Because he's just himself, just plain old Charles Xavier. And that's actually a pretty glorious thing to be. But how is he ever going to explain this all to anyone? How can he face up to all of the untruths that he's told over the years? How will he ever face Jean again when she finds out the truth about him? And what about the town that he loves, and the students who look up to him as a role model? What about Kitty and Rogue and God, what about Bobby Drake? He's pretty sure that Drake looks up to him, after how much time they've spent together trying to get him into a good college. What will he think about his favorite teacher being gay?

He swallows involuntarily as sweat creeps down his back, the trickles feeling chilly and cold now that he's no longer in motion.

Abruptly the most terrifying thought of all comes to his mind: How will he ever tell his mother that he's going to have cancel this elaborate wedding that she has planned?

It's shortly followed by a smile as he pictures the look on her face when he does so. 

Hell, that might make for perfect television after all, and he knows just the man he can call to set it all up...

He throws the tape he was listening to in the garbage, and fumbles around for a dusty cassette he hid a few years ago behind some large volumes on Shakespeare. He plugs it in and lets the sweet music wash over him. This time around there will be no loud, mocking male narrator chastising his life choices and inborn tendencies. And this time, there will be no interruptions to the track, no ending of harsh censure and derogatory words. Tomorrow, he will have to figure it all out. Tomorrow he will tell everyone his secret, stop the wedding, and figure out some way to save Jean from the ensuing garbage fire that his life is sure to become once the truth is known.  
  
But right now, in this moment, there is only a beautiful bubble. And in that bubble is Gloria and Charles, singing in perfect harmony: 

**I will survive, hey, hey!!**


End file.
